Behind his Mask
by Dawn of Aiden
Summary: Before he leaves to carry out his plan and expose the senators, Bastian thinks on him and Lucia, on how his actions prevent them from being together,and wishes things could be different. Oneshot. May write an expanded, full story if there is more interes


_I don't own Fire Emblem, I just wishes I does_

Behind his Mask

It was all an act. A glorious game which they played, all of them had to do their bit in order to make the little performance work. There was just one regret Bastian had, when the curtain fell on the play called life, she was always on the other side to him.

Something was between them; he did not know exactly what it was. Some would say duty, but duty had not stopped the Queen and her husband. No, duty was not the divide. Bastian had looked at many reasons why she would always spurn him so, and in the end had settled on one thing. It was him, his outlook.

Bastian would be the first to admit, he was the jester, the actor and the fool, when needed. He wore his face like a mask, and behind this he played his games. It was how it always was; he was not good around people otherwise. He needed to act, if life was not a play, it was a prison to him. But lately, he began to suspect the reason why dear Lucia always spurned his advances was because of the very mask he wore. She did not like the jester, the poet.

Bastian sighed, and walked across his room, sitting in a chair, and reaching and pulling out a book, hidden from sight, from within his desk. Opening it, he slowly traced along the pages until he found the day he was looking for. The day his mask had fallen. The day he and Lucia had been so close… And the day she had completely forgotten, seemingly. He read it, no, he remembered it perfectly.

"_Count!" exclaimed the blue haired swordstress, running up to him "What news?"_

_Bastian sighed, and removed his heavy, outer cloak, and rain water dripped off it. He did not want to say "Foul news" he eventually said._

_Lucia gasped, and looked into his eyes. She saw it, the truth._

"_I am so sorry my lady…" the sage took her hands in his, and his act was gone, he was himself. To keep it up under such circumstances would be… Well, why would he? "It appears your brother was caught by Daein pursuers… We have no word of any Crimean survivors…"_

"_The Princess?" Lucia gulped, and Bastian saw the despair in her eyes. She looked so fragile, so young, and so innocent. So helpless, as if everything was collapsing around her. She did not want to ask about her brother, she did not want to know, just to deny. He knew the feeling._

_Bastian shook his head "No sign of her… I fear our worst dreams have come true" he looked away to hide a tear, and then felt a bump as Lucia threw herself at him, her arms tight around him, her head resting on his shoulder, crying. He patted her on the back, and tried to think of something to say. There were no words. Crimea's hope had died._

The count sighed, and turned the page. That had been very early into the war, he and Lucia had been a little way from the capital, and that event had been three days after it fell. Three days and the two of them, barely having known each other, hardly having spoke before, were thrust into a world of grief. For a week it was just the two of them, alone in a cottage, hiding out the worst before they tried to move. How he wished for those days again with what he knew now! How he wished he could speak to her plainly, tell her his mind without having to wrap it up in the excess prose he usually had to! How much better would things be? He continued reading his diary, the night of that same day.

_Bastian could not sleep. To even try when his own country was dieing, it was mere folly! No. Enough, he did not need to use his act at the moment. That side of him was in the same flames as those that he was sure engulfed his sweet, dear Elincia's body. He choked at the thought, and tears formed. Elincia was dead. Crimea was dead. For all he knew, the only two survivors where here, in this small cottage, miles from anything. Him and Lady Lucia, last of Crimea. _

_This was doing nothing. He stood up, and rested his head in his hands. And then he heard footsteps. Could it be? Impossible! They had caught up with them already! He grabbed his tome, from the desk where he had discarded it in lonesome grief earlier, and stepped to the door. He slowly stepped out. It was quiet. He stalked over to Lucia's room, and knocked gently on the door. Nothing. "Lucia?" he asked after another two attempts. Silence "I am coming in" he softly pushed open the door. The room was empty. He should have known. It was her. Well… It was better than Daein's, he supposed. _

_But that begged the question of where she was. He glanced around, and walked to the door. There she was. Standing alone and still, under the moon which was so bright this night. She looked so beautiful, so sad… Like the last snow of winter, so soft, so mournful as you know it will soon be gone. Placing his tome down, he walked out to her._

"_My Lady" he said softly._

"_Drop the act" Lucia scowled at him "Just drop it, we are no lords and ladies anymore, we are not nobles and princes, we are failures!" she turned away from him, and stopped._

"_Lucia…" the count ventured, and reached out an arm, and placed it on her shoulder._

"_Stop it!" she turned around, and beat her hands on his chest "We failed! We loose! They are dead! They are all dead!" she cried, and hit him again and again, before collapsing into his arms, letting out giant sobs. It had affected her badly, and it showed. Bastian had been hurt, but he was used to throwing up a façade to cover his feelings, whether to deceive an opponent, or hide his true emotions, he knew what to do. Lucia seemingly did not. "Crimea is DEAD!" she screamed, and it rang out from the hollow valleys._

_Bastian was inclined to agree. But he could not. He could not let his land die so easily. He ran his hand through her hair, surprised at how silk like it felt, and whispered into her ear "As long as we live, Crimea is not dead" she looked up at him "It is our duty to carry on, and honour out brave and fallen friends… We cannot let Daein win" his voice began to break "We can't"._

_Lucia gripped him tighter "Master jester moved to tears?" she asked, and gave a small, wet laugh. A forced laugh, but it was better than nothing._

"_That me never left the castle" Bastian whispered, and felt vulnerable all of a sudden. Why was he opening up to this woman he barely knew? "I am moved to tears for the death of the old me, the death of my land, the death of my princess and finally, for seeing so beautiful a woman reduced to the same state as me"_

_Lucia did not move, neither of them did. It took some minutes for either of them to speak. "We are Crimea" she said at last._

"_We are Crimea" Bastian repeated. "To the last" he looked at Lucia, the pretty young casualty of the war who had not yet even fought._

"_To the last" she looked at him, and into his eyes. They both gazed deep, and their faces drifted closer together. Slowly, slowly until Bastian could feel her soft lips brushing against his. But almost before it could begin, Lucia let go and ran. Bastian was left alone with his thoughts. _

"That was probably for the best" the quick witted sage admitted, closing the book. He and Lucia had never spoken like that again. The next morning a messenger had arrived. It appeared her brother lived, and was heading towards them. Lucia was overjoyed, and as more joined them, it seemed many had survived. And so Bastian had hid again, and once again he wore his mask, and now, well, and now the mask was so much a part of him he did not know how to take it off. Lucia had never admitted that night happened. That hurt the Count, and made his mask so much more necessary. Ironic really, he could not drop it until Lucia accepted him, and she would not do that until he lost the mask. Oh how Ashera did love to play with them!

He stood up, and looked over his things, he was ready to leave. The arrangements were made. He would pretend to go to Daein, the rebels would be lured out, and Ike would strike. A good plan. He looked at his desk, at the letter he had left there. In his elegant hand writing it was addressed to Lucia, telling her of his feelings in normal prose, not his masks poetry. It had taken him more effort to write than it had to construct his scheme, he picked it up, and looked at it.

No, he could not; he looked to the fire, and with a deft movement, threw his hard written letter onto it, watching the flames lick over the words, dissecting his feelings and thoughts… Much like she did to him.

He left the room, and began to head to the throne room, to bid farewell to his Queen. He passed Lucia.

"My dearest lady Lucia, I apologise for leaving like this but duty calls. I pray for you in those long nights without me" he said, bowing as he did so.

"Dream on, Count" she replied with a small grin. All was normal. Inwardly a little bit more of Count Bastian, the great sage and politician, died.


End file.
